


on my mind

by knightswatch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crossdressing, Fluff, M/M, Team Bonding, antics, maid dresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:46:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kunimi glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, and Yuutarou is <i>certain</i> that he's wearing makeup. He smirks, as much as he ever makes any particular expression. “You look ridiculous.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Yuutarou sighs, rubbing the hot skin at the back of his neck, wondering if it's as red as his face is. “How did we get roped into this, anyway?”</p><p>“Funding,” Yahaba responds, quick and sharp as a whip. He adjusts the jacket of his suit, and despite being taller, Yuutarou has the distinct impression of the captain looking <i>down</i> at him. “Unless you'd like to turn nationals into a camping trip.”</p><p>“I'd prefer camping to this,” Kyoutani huffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on my mind

The whole thing is a stupid idea. Yuutarou doesn't _say so_ , because that would be rude to his senpai, and also because Kyoutani has already said it enough for all of them. He's silent now, tugging the white cuffs of his shirt with murder in his eyes. Their esteemed captain stops tying the bow at the back of a first-year to glare at him. “Stop fiddling please, Kentarou-kun.”

His scolding is less effective than usual due to the fact he goes bright pink the second Kyoutani looks up at him. His stares for a beat before clearing his throat and ripping his eyes away like it takes him a serious effort to do so.

Yuutarou can't exactly blame Yahaba for it. All of the third-years are dressed in sharp, black suits, tailored to them by the cosplay club with mint green ties and crisp white shirts. The three of them all look good in the outfits, but there's something particular about the way a suit sits on Kyoutani—like the sheer audacity of it is attractive on its own.

The first and second-years are not quite so lucky. All of the regulars have been stuffed into maid outfits, complete with aprons, stockings that make Yuutarou's thighs itch, and lace headbands (Yuutarou isn't wearing his—it doesn't fit over his hair). He feels absurd—the skirt falls short of his knees, frills and bows a poor fit on his muscles and growth spurt stretched limbs. Every move makes the lace and satin rustle and he's burning to the tips of his ears. The tap on his shoulder almost makes him yelp but behind him,   
Kunimi simply looks bored with the whole arrangement. 

They're dressed just the same, and Kunimi holds the strings of his apron out behind him in either hand, tilting his head slightly at Yuutarou. Despite the outfits being identical, it sits much more nicely on his slender frame—tight on his shoulders and low cut enough that it shows the sharp lines of his collarbone, and the tights probably aren't cutting into his thighs like they are Yuutarou's.

He looks smaller than usual, delicate, a match to his soft features. Pretty, he looks pretty, and Yuutarou finds that he's staring.

“Help me tie these.” Kunimi sounds a shade annoyed and Yuutarou nods his head with a rough swallow that he hopes his best friend won't notice, gripping the fabric ties after Kunimi turns around. His hands don't shake and he manages to tie a neat bow at the small of Kunimi's back. It's a struggle not to let his fingers linger there, smoothing the soft fabric where it gathers under the bow. Kunimi glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, and Yuutarou is _certain_ that he's wearing makeup. He smirks, as much as he ever makes any particular expression. “You look ridiculous.”

“Shut up,” Yuutarou sighs, rubbing the hot skin at the back of his neck, wondering if it's as red as his face is. “How did we get roped into this, anyway?”

“Funding,” Yahaba responds, quick and sharp as a whip. He adjusts the jacket of his suit, and despite being taller, Yuutarou has the distinct impression of the captain looking _down_ at him. “Unless you'd like to turn nationals into a camping trip.”

“I'd prefer camping to this,” Kyoutani huffs, only relaxing slightly at Watari's hand patting his shoulder.

“It's just for the afternoon,” the libero smiles, and he's all charm in his own tuxedo, folding his gloved hands in front of him. “It won't be so bad, you'll see.”

It's worse.

It starts with Kyoutani being inordinately popular with girls who come in. He's requested as a waiter more than he seems prepared for, and Yuutarou flinches at the clatter of him nearly throwing down a plate in front of a pair of blushing girls who barely take their eyes off of him to look at the food instead. Yahaba looks up from charming his own table to glare at the ace though his face goes pink again.

Yuutarou would laugh if he wasn't so focused trying to balance his own tray of drinks, ignoring the soft laughter that follows after him. It turns out, he's not only a ridiculous looking maid, but an unbalanced one as well, and when he nearly falls again, Yahaba cringes and appears at his elbow with a smile. “Why don't you help out the kitchen, Kindaichi-kun.”

He looks, for a moment like he's scared Yuutarou is going to be mad at the suggestion, but he sighs out hard in relief, his shoulders slumping. “Oh thank god.”

Yahaba laughs, giving Yuutarou a pat and watching him wobble his way back to the kitchens. Kunimi was already banned there earlier for being too slow with orders and barely making any effort to talk to customers, which Yuutarou isn't surprised by in the least. He's good at cooking, though, and when Yuutarou walks in he's flipping a pan of sizzling rice, a slight furrow of concentration on his face. 

Behind him, one of the first-year's is furiously pounding his fists into a ball of dough, teeth grit tightly together, apparently ignorant of the flour stained across the front of his skirt. Yuutarou muffles a soft laugh behind his hand, snapping to work when Kunimi glances up to glare at him.

Yuutarou is nowhere near as skilled in the kitchen, and he ends up chopping vegetables into sloppy chunks, telling himself over and over not to keep staring at Kunimi or he's going to lose a finger. It's hard, though, with the way his best friend occasionally rubs his shin along the back of his calf, rubbing the stockings together and making them rasp, seeming totally aware of the little habit. He wonders if Kunimi shaved his legs for the event (he knows a few people did—getting dressed he wished he'd done it himself).

He forces the thought out of his head before he can slice himself with the knife, staring down at the abused carrot in front of him, miserably trying to swallow his heart back from his throat. If this is as bad as the afternoon gets, though, Yuutarou figures it's nothing he can't handle.

And then an entire sack of flour gets knocked off a counter by a stray elbow, and Yuutarou, coughing white clouds of dust out of his lungs, figures he deserved that one, just a little bit. Not only do he and Kunimi end up covered, but the food they were in the middle of preparing is stifled under a layer of flour as well, leaving the whole kitchen looking like the scene of a fresh snowfall, motes of it still lazily floating through the air.

It takes an instant for the sound to send Yahaba running, of course, and he stops in the doorway and hangs his head with a long groan, eyes closed. It takes a moment for him to compose himself, and Yuutarou doesn't miss the hand rubbing small circles on his side though Kyoutani isn't _quite_ close enough to the open doorway to be scene.

Yahaba breathes out a small sigh, shaking his head. “Okay. Clean this up. I'll take Watari and get more food.”

 

He turns, grabbing Kyoutani's arm and nudging him into the kitchen, ignoring the ace's grumbled protests. “Help them clean then get them cooking again.”

Kyoutani spends another moment looking like he wants to argue, then he seems to weigh that against being forced to go out and wait on people, because he nods his head sharply, clapping his hands together once so loudly that Yuutarou's ears ring. The first-years leap away from madly scrambling flour in their hands, practically quaking in their maid gear at the glower they receive.

“You,” he points at one, frowning. “Broom. Bring back dustpans too.”

The student gulps hard once before scrambling out of the room, shiny black shoes clicking madly on the floor as he goes. Kyoutani continues doling out orders to the younger members, seeming content to forget Yuutarou ad Kunimi for the moment and so instead of helping clean like he should, Yuutarou contents himself with picking clumps of flour out of Kunimi's hair. He does his best to avoid the headband, winding up brushing his fingers repeatedly through the smooth strands.

He almost doesn't realize that he's doing little more than petting Kunimi until his best friend leans just slightly into the touch with a sleepy sound. Yuutarou pulls his hand back, though it's a reluctant thing. He doesn't need anything else to make Kunimi think that it would be easier to slink off and take a nap.

Kunimi gives him a pout in response, the last thing he gets to do before Kyoutani puts them both to work as well.

Its barely a relief when Yahaba and Watari finally make it back with more food. There isn't any real relief until the whole deal closes at the end of the day. Stuck in the kitchen the whole time, Yuutarou doesn't have anything to do _but_ think about Kunimi and the stupid maid dress, still dusty with flour and still unfairly pretty on Kunimi.

There's flour in his own hair, caught in the spiked strands, and it makes a cloud around his head when he changes back into his uniform, trying to shake even more of it out from the lace bits of the dress and mostly failing at it. Kunimi, still in his dress, covers his mouth to hide the fact that he's _laughing_ and Yuutarou shoots him a glare.

“It's not my fault that _you_ look good in a dress.” He snaps, then pauses, mouth open, heat creeping into his face again. That's exactly _not_ what he meant to say, and Kunimi stops laughing but tilts his head to the side slightly, a sharp, curious look in his eyes.

“I look good?” He asks, lips twitching upward despite the bite in his tone. He saunters an extra step forward, putting a little sway into his hips when he does, and Yuutarou suddenly finds the collar of his shirt much too constricting around his airway. “Is that why you were so nervous all day?”

The option of _lying_ about it doesn't really cross Yuutarou's mind, and he nods his head dumbly, lips still parted slightly.

He's off balance at the moment, an easy target when Kunimi locks both hands at the back of his neck and hauls Yuutarou down the several centimeters of height separating them and kisses him.

And, well, if it feels like Kunimi is grinning just as much as Yuutarou is when he reaches around and tugs the neat bow of Kunimi's apron in with a laugh, neither of them mentions it.


End file.
